


Unflinching Heart

by crackinthecup



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Death, F/F, F/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23067874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: Lúthien is looking for Beren when she is interrupted by someone she used to know.
Relationships: Implied Lúthien/Beren, Lúthien Tinúviel/Thuringwethil
Kudos: 4





	Unflinching Heart

Stars dotted the sky, little pinpricks of light shining out of the darkness. Morgoth’s lieutenant had fled. All that was left of him was his blood, glistening on the grass and dripping from Huan’s fangs. Lúthien stroked the crown of the great hound’s head, hand dipping down to rub fondly at his throat. Her fingers drew away flecked with the gore streaked through his fur.

“You’ve done well, friend,” she murmured, tipping her head back to let the night air cool her cheeks. It had taken long to subdue Sauron, and weariness was beginning to drag at her bones.

But they were not done here. She let her power seep from her to envelop the tower. She supposed it must have been fair once, stone upon gleaming stone delicately winding round and round to a dizzying height. Now the very ground upon which it stood was rotten with evil.

She stepped forwards, gliding to the middle of the bridge, Huan at her side. Her face was set, filled with a cold light like the stars above. With a flick of her hand, the mortar holding the stones of the tower together liquified, sloshing down the walls as though newly mixed. The stones slipped and slid: some crashed to the ground to roll across the grass; others hurtled down into the abyss beyond the rim of the isle, forever lost to the swell and roar of the Sirion.

Sauron’s lurking creatures had a choice between plunging to their deaths into the chattering waters below, or perishing beneath crushing piles of masonry. None of them dared to face Lúthien standing bright and terrible upon the bridge. Within minutes, the proud walls had dwindled to rubble, and silence returned to the isle. The tower of Minas Tirith was no more.

Slowly Sauron’s captives emerged from the rubble. Some were too weak to wander far, simply sitting upon the grass and shielding their eyes from the moon as though its radiance hurt them. Others plucked up the courage to scuttle over the bridge, avoiding Lúthien as best they could. They were afraid of her; power still crackled like invisible lightning in the air about her, and there was a fell light in her eyes

She paid them little heed; she was only here for Beren. But slowly the flow of prisoners dwindled and he was nowhere to be found. She strode forwards, Huan padding behind her, picking her way through toppled stones, shards of glass and the broken bodies of orcs, and finding no sign of Beren. She made to venture deeper into the ruined fortress, but Huan’s growl brought her to a standstill.

Wings flapped overhead, the stars faltered, and a rich voice cut through the silence: “No one told me we were entertaining royalty.”

Huan was growling more aggressively now, but Lúthien laid a placating palm upon his head.

“Hush, friend,” she soothed the hound, then turned to the creature perching upon a pile of stones. "You have no business here," she continued in a neutral tone, addressing Thuringwethil. “Fly to your master.”

Thuringwethil chuckled, an insolent lilt to the sound. She pinned Lúthien with her unsettling gaze, eyes fully black except for the gleaming red of her irises. Lúthien remained impassive.

“I have no master,” Thuringwethil crooned, lazily crossing her legs.

“You do the Abhorred One’s bidding.”

Thuringwethil shrugged. “It suits me, for the time being. The High Ones beyond the Sea take no stock of vampire-folk.”

“Yet once you were of a noble race.”

“I am still,” Thuringwethil smiled, and the sharp points of her teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “This?” she continued, stretching out a membranous wing, turning slightly to let Lúthien see the bat pelt draped over her shoulders. “This is an improvement.”

Lúthien started to walk away. She did not have time for this. “I did not come here for you,” she said sharply, gesturing for Huan to follow her.

Suddenly Thuringwethil unfurled her wings and glided through the air, gracefully landing in front of Lúthien to bar her way.

“Did you not, Princess?” Thuringwethil sneered.

She advanced, but Lúthien stood her ground, undaunted, frowning up into Thuringwethil’s face. Anger flashed in Lúthien’s eyes, and she slipped a hand behind her, gripping the hilt of the dagger concealed beneath her cloak. She would tolerate no further delay.

“I do not owe you anything,” Lúthien said, a chill creeping into her voice. “I do not regret our time together, but we both know it has been a long time since we meant anything to each other.”

_(She had been younger, then; she had been curious, and Thuringwethil’s touch had been thrilling.)_

Thuringwethil laughed, and Lúthien was surprised to hear genuine mirth there. A clawed hand gently cupped Lúthien’s cheek. The touch was cool against her skin, and she shivered.

“Do you think I’m jealous?” Thuringwethil asked with an amused smirk. “I care nothing for your lovers. You misunderstand me.”

She leaned closer, bridging the distance between them so that the nauseating smell of blood wafted over Lúthien. Thuringwethil dragged her hand downwards to rest against the nape of Lúthien’s neck, sharp fingernails scratching over the sensitive skin there, never quite drawing blood.

“You _have_ come here for me,” Thuringwethil continued, taunting, breath hot against the shell of Lúthien’s ear. She had watched as Sauron had been tossed out of the fortress in shame, and now she saw her chance to gain a generous reward by killing his vanquisher. She was not like those scarpering orcs; Lúthien did not frighten her. “Do you not intend to purge this place of evil? Here I am, then. I am no creature of the sun.”

Thuringwethil dragged her lips over Lúthien’s jaw, dipping her head to press kisses to the side of her neck. Lúthien remained silent, though her left hand came up to tangle in Thuringwethil’s hair. Her right hand gripped her dagger all the more tightly. Lúthien was well aware that Thuringwethil could feel the rush of her blood just beneath her skin. She felt light pressure on her carotid artery, Thuringwethil’s teeth on the cusp of puncturing flesh.

And then blood was spraying over her, and she let the dagger fall from her hand. Savagely she twisted her fingers in Thuringwethil’s hair, yanking her head back, watching as blood continued to spurt from the gash across her throat, as her hands frantically scrabbled to cover the wound and delay the inevitable.

“I wanted to let you live, you know,” Lúthien told her. For the space of several heartbeats, she held Thuringwethil’s dying body by the hair. Slowly her fathomless eyes grew blank, their lustre fading. Lúthien cast her to the ground.

Far above the stars seemed brighter. Lúthien wiped her dagger on her trousers, idly scanning Thuringwethil’s body, eyes coming to rest on her bat pelt. A plan began to form in her mind, and she hummed in contemplation, her heart unflinching within her breast. She turned her gaze to the North as if she could see across the countless miles to where Morgoth ruled from his cruel throne.

“Our task is still before us,” she said to Huan, and together they picked a path into the ruins of the fortress to where the darkness was deepest.


End file.
